


there’s an anger blazing inside

by witty_kitty



Series: Bottom Wilbur Standalone Works [5]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alpha Philza, Bottom Wilbur Soot, Canon Divergent — Wilbur doesn’t die on Nov. 16; Phil still stabs him, Feral Wilbur Soot, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Wilbur Soot, Power Bottom Wilbur Soot, Riding, Top Philza, Top Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28802721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witty_kitty/pseuds/witty_kitty
Summary: A dead man has no need for suppressants, so Wilbur doesn’t bother to brew any more for November 16th.It all goes to plan, until it doesn’t.
Relationships: Technoblade/Phil Watson (Background), Technoblade/Wilbur Soot, Technoblade/Wilbur Soot/Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot/Phil Watson
Series: Bottom Wilbur Standalone Works [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048960
Comments: 79
Kudos: 516





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NO SBI** — Phil and Techno are old friends (with benefits ;) ), and Phil is ONLY Tommy’s father. 
> 
> Wilbur is a babysitter turned friend (Tommy sees Wilbur as an older brother figure, but Phil and Wilbur **do not** have a father/son relationship. They met as adults — **they’re just friends.** )
> 
>  **A/B/O Notes:** Heats and ruts just make As and Os extremely aggressive in this au (no breeding so no knots or whatever, sorry)
> 
> Depending on the person it could be like aggressive behavior, tasks, etc. Alphas usually are in physical like period style pain, Omegas get the pain you feel when you’re sick ((hence the name heat)) 
> 
> Most people ride them out but they can be ended early with a few quick fucks... unless you’ve taken a fuck ton of suppressants for several years, it’s not too bad. I’m gonna be real, I’m not touching into the culture or world building too much, but if I ever do, it’ll probbay be in a platonic A/B/O AU. 
> 
> Phil is an Alpha, Wilbur is an omega. Techno hails from the Nether as a full piglin (pig head and everything man!!) so he has no dynamic.

Wilbur’s not sure if it’s his impending heat or the suppressant withdrawal about to give him absolute hell, but it’s hot as hell in the button room. He feels gross, sweat making his clothes stick to him like a second skin. It’s only pissing him off more, honestly, ruining what should’ve been one of the happiest moments of his life. He’s still completely ready to blow L’manberg and himself to kingdom come though, ready to damn it to ashes that will never recover. A little bit of dirt and sweat isn’t going to stop him.

He bites back a grimace as he approaches the smooth wooden button, vision swimming as he barely holds himself up. Wilbur can’t remember the last time he’s had a heat, having brewed suppressants for himself and a few other villagers at a young age. All he remembers is that it _hurt_ , an emptiness clawing at his chest as his head spun from all the overwhelming scents assaulting his nose as he was shoved and locked into a dark, stone room. If he tries hard enough, he can still hear the way the metal screeched as he clawed at the door, pleading for someone, anyone to be there, to at least hold his hand.

He never wanted to go through that again, and yet here he is. Alone in a dark stone room, his heat - the first one he’s had in years - is right around the corner, and the only difference between then and now is that he’s about to blow up a country. Maybe it’s fate. Maybe, despite his best efforts, he’s always supposed to die alone and in disgrace, any attempts to shine ending with him being a smear on history.

Whatever it is, Wilbur doesn’t particularly care anymore. It’s why he didn’t bother brewing any more suppressants after his last batch ran out, why he stopped grooming himself, why he’s pushed away and shoved down every instinct that screams to protect his family, his friends, his pu- kids and burned every bridge he’s ever had before anyone can do it for him.

Is this how Eret felt, all that time ago in the final control room?

He balls his hand into a fist, reeling back—

“What are you doing?”

No.

There’s no way he’s hearing that correctly.

“...Philza?” In the dim torchlight, he can see a shadow that’s not his on the wall, accompanied by the soft click of wooden sandals on stone. It’s really him. Wilbur almost wants to laugh at the sheer absurdity of his situation. He’s about to blow up a country, and the only one who’s come to talk him down is the father of the kid he used to babysit.

Wilbur turns to face him, trying to resist the urge to bash the man’s head in for intruding on _his_ ne- space. He’s not sure why, but somehow, Phil has never looked more threatening, even when he pauses to sniff the air. It had always been a bit hard for him to conflate the ‘Angel of Death’ with Philza Minecraft, loving father of one hyperactive child, but... right now? With the way his raven wings fill out the room, a hard glint in his eyes as his scent fills the room (get it out, get it out, _get it out_ ), Wilbur can see it.

“Wilbur,” he says, mocking him like he’s some sort of _child_ , “Mate, what are you doing?”

“ _Get out,_ ” Wilbur bares his teeth, watching with some satisfaction as Phil takes a step back, feathers rustling. His sky blue eyes are darting around, most likely looking for some sort of weakness. “Tommy’s out there. Stop wasting your time.”

“I’m more worried about you right now,” he bristles, and Phil holds his hands up like he’s trying to placate a wild animal. Rage simmers under his skin. Who is Phil to treat him this way? “Wilbur, this is... you’re really about to blow this all up?”

“Everything I’ve worked for is _gone_ , Phil! L’manberg is no longer that special place I dreamed of so long ago.”

“But it is, Wil, you’ve just won it all back!” He doesn’t understand. Of course he doesn’t— he doesn’t get that even with the land back, L’manberg will never be what it once was. The vision he had for a country of words and kindness is forever stained with their blood, and there’s no way to clean it off. Fireworks explode in the distance, and Wilbur can’t suppress his flinch.

“They’re fighting, Phil, they’re fighting _again_ —“ Of course they are, of course, of course, of course. It only proves his point. L’manberg has been built on bloodshed and war, and it’s only fitting that it would die with bloodshed and war across her grassy plains.

A wave of warmth washes over him, leaving him dizzy. When had Phil gotten so close? It’s— Everything’s getting to be all too much, harder and harder to keep himself standing as his vision swims. He needs to press it now, or he won’t be able to later.

“Wilbur—“

“Phil,” he says, “Do you know of a traitor, someone who went by the name of Eret?” Phil nods, opening his mouth to say something, but Wilbur doesn’t care. “There’s something they said, that has always stuck with me...” His hands ball into fist. In one fluid motion, he slams it into the button, grinning with far too many teeth. “It was never meant to be.”

_Hsssss_

“ _Wilbur!_ ” Phil screams, and the wall caves in on them with a deafening _boom._ It stinks of gunpowder, there’s dust and debris in his mouth, but Wilbur can only laugh as his symphony goes up in flames. “Wilbur— I— you—“

Dumbfounded is a nice look on him, Wilbur thinks. He looks even lovelier with the way L’manberg’s ruins act as a backdrop, light streaming in to make golden locks glitter and glow. A real knight in shining armor, like the stories he used to tell Tommy, here to kill the villain and save the day.

And Wilbur’s the villain.

With a flick of his wrist, he summons his sword, ignoring the way it feels heavier than usual in his sweaty hands. Phil stiffens, eyes trained on the sword as distress radiates off of him in waves, mixing with everyone else’s ( _shock, horror, fear, do something, get rid of them, help them, do_ something), and he nearly tips over right there.

“Phil, kill me,” he says, pushing the sword in Phil’s hands (and ignoring the way his touch feels, so nice and cool, and he should just lock him up and snuggle with him, set him free and kill him for daring to touch him after everything—). “Kill me, you have to, Phil, you need to kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you!” Phil snaps, loud, loud, loud, and Wilbur can be loud too, asshole, “Wilbur, you’re... you’re not well. If you just come with me—“

“You have to _kill me_ , Phil!” Wilbur snaps, stalking forward, “They all want you to! I destroyed all of this! You’re the hero, you have to kill me! Kill me, Killza, kill me, _kill me—_ ” It’s getting harder and harder to think, and all he knows is the glint of the sword, words falling on deaf ears as he desperately repeats himself over and over again. Wilbur’s not sure what they mean anymore, the meaning having lost itself somewhere along the way, but it doesn’t matter. He _needs_ this.

“I’m sorry.”

His chest suddenly _burns_ , hot, hot, hot, and his mouth tastes bad, and there’s something wet on his face, everything _hurts—_

* * *

Technoblade sighs as he approaches the small room, half buried in debris. L’manberg has long been deserted, its former citizens having scattered somewhere else following the battle. Really, what had they expected? That he would just lie back and let them form another government right in front of him?

_technosad_

_F_

_smh what were they thinking_

_not pogchamp_

_;( awwww_

_at least there’s phil_

They were the real traitors here, every single one of them.

...No. Not all of them.

Technoblade follows the scent of dried blood and gunpowder to the body on the floor. Wilbur Soot lies on the floor, arms crossed over his heart and a smile on his face, looking far happier in death than he had in life. Chat goes crazy at the sight of him, some grieving while others yell at him to bury the man. (Like he would let him rot?) Something in him twinges at the sight. Other than Phil, Wilbur had been the closest thing he had to an ally before, someone who never expected Techno to stray from his values. He could have almost called him a friend.

Well, there’s no point in dwelling on what could have been. Right now, Techno is here to bury him. Wilbur doesn’t deserve to rot, and judging by everyone’s reactions, he’s probably the only one who thinks that. He’ll have to preserve the body long enough to mine and melt down enough gold to—

Someone gasps, quiet and hoarse.

_UH_

_!!!!!_

_HE LIVES_

_ALIVEBUR ALIVEBUR ALIVEBUR_

_help him!!!!!_

_E_

_POGGGGGGG_

_HOLY SHIT_

His ears flick as they pick up raspy breathing, quiet and barely there, but it’s there. And then it’s there again. He doesn’t waste any time pulling out the last of his regeneration potions, all but forcing the shimmering pink liquid down Wilbur’s throat. Humans aren’t supposed to be this warm, right? But maybe it’s a good thing— if he were cold, he’d be dead.

Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. Wilbur’s going to die if Techno doesn’t do anything, and he can’t let that happen.

_tsundereblade!!_

_awww he does care_

_Is he supposed to be so warm?_

_Fever maybe?????? Maybe heat???_

_man a heat would suck right about now_

_isn’t he a beta or whatever_

_Dynamics are weirdchamp_

_^^ I agree_

The regeneration potion has healed the worst of it, he hopes — he doesn’t have enough for a full restore, and he‘d rather not have Wilbur choke on a golden apple in his sleep, so it’ll have to do for now. Where is he even going to take him? His old bunker is most likely going to be ransacked by Tommy and the rest of them. He’ll have to set up camp somewhere far away or find a village that hasn’t been ransacked.

He had originally been planning to set up a new base in a snow biome he had scouted out a while ago across the sea, after burying Wilbur but now...

_technodumb_

_there was a village!!! By the snow biome!!!_

_VILLAGE VILLAGE VILLAGE_

_leave him he’s gonna die anyway_

_E_

...or Chat could just tell him about the village that was there.

“You better not be lying,” he mutters as he hoists the taller man into his arms. It’s a little bit awkward getting him onto Carl, but Techno makes it work.

Time to head to that village. Hopefully, Wilbur won’t bleed out on the way there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technoblade, you have no idea what you’re about to get into. 👀
> 
> First time writing an A/B/O AU. Hopefully I won’t butcher it too much. I didn’t really want to write the usual (breeding, submissive omegas, etc.), and I really wanted aggressive hate sex but without the hate... and here we are. 
> 
> ✌🏻See y’all in the next chap.
> 
> Also please go read the other two omega Wilbur works in the Archives, I promise you won’t regret it. They updated and it’s 🥺🥰😊👍☺️


	2. Technobur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Technoblade makes a few decisions and keeps getting jumped by one very tall, very feral man. 
> 
> It works out, somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight shifts in my a/b/o au where the longer someone goes on suppressants, the more feral they’re gonna be when they get hit by the full force of their heat or rut  
> ^ it’s mildly dub con bc Wilbur cannot explicitly consent, but I do wanna stress that he’s not helpless while in heat. He can and will fight if he feels threatened or annoyed 
> 
> This was very tough to write, but that’s not the only reason I’ve been gone a month, I swear. Sorry for the long wait!
> 
> also techno has a pig dick. I had to do research for this.

Surprisingly, Chat hadn’t been lying to him.

There really had been a village by his base, small and for the most part, untouched. It’s hidden away to protect it from mobs and the like, judging the by the fact that he can’t see a single iron golem as he arrives. It only works in his favor, really.

The villagers eye him warily as he slides off of Carl, Wilbur still limp in his arms. The brunet had barely moved throughout the trip, only occasionally shifting and tucking himself further into his chest, his hands fisting the fabric of his cape tightly as if he might disappear at any moment.

It’s strange, seeing the usually paranoid man so... vulnerable and open. Even before all of this, the brunet has always been a bit closed off, preferring to keep his cards to his chest. The rebellion only dialed that up to a hundred, as well as granting him a level of insomnia that almost rivaled Techno’s own. He remembers it well — the way Wilbur spent most of those restless nights pacing, muttering to himself or writing in a journal, stressed and snippy. Occasionally they’d talk, but those nights were few and far between.

Maybe things would have been different, had they talked more. Techno’s not responsible for Wilbur though, and ultimately, what happened isn’t on him, no matter how much Phil’s kid tries to blame him for all of it anyway.

“Take care of him,” he says, pushing the limp body and a handful of emeralds into the local alchemist’s arms. The villager looks startled, opening his mouth as if to disagree, but he’s already turning away, ready to leave now that his job is done—

_lmaoooo_

_hA_

_aw that’s so cute_

_Wilbur’s trying to take a canon life in his sleep lol_

He nearly falls flat on his snout as he’s tugged backwards, something catching on his cape. It’s Wilbur, he quickly realizes, and he’s not letting go. “Wilbur, buddy, you’ve got to let go,” Techno mutters, trying to unhook the long fingers digging into the fabric. Somehow, his grip only gets tighter, a small whine escaping. Chat continues to make fun of him as he tugs a little bit harder, but the brunet continues to hold on for dear life. (What kind of grip strength does Wilbur even have? Doesn’t the man use a bow most of the time?) Eventually, he gives up — he knows when to cut his losses, and there’s no way he’s going to get his cape back without tearing it in half.

Sighing, he unhooks it, draping it over Wilbur. “I’ll be back in a few days.” For the cape and a few of the villagers, of course. If he happens to check in on Wilbur — who should be awake by then — while he’s there, well... it means nothing.

_keep telling yourself that_

_tsundereblade is real lmaoooo_

“Alright, that’s _enough_ , Chat,” he mutters under his breath as he gets back onto Carl, ignoring the looks he gets from the village.

Now, to set up that new base...

* * *

In the process of building himself a new home, he forgets about Wilbur.

It’s not on purpose. Between the bees and moving his things (from his clearly raided base, which he wouldn’t really be too pissed off about if Tubbo hadn’t stolen _all of his emeralds, seriously who needs that many_ —), he gets so caught up in his work that he only remembers when his communicator buzzes with a message from Phil.

 _Ph1lzA:_ hey tech, do you know what happened to wil’s body

 _Technoblade:_ uh

 _Technoblade:_ no idea

 _Technoblade:_ didn’t even know he was dead

 _Technoblade:_ what body?? i have never seen a body in my life

 _Ph1lzA:_ What did you do

 _Ph1lzA:_ please tell me you didnt desecrate his body or smth

 _Technoblade:_ sorry phil, rlly busy talk later

 _Technoblade:_ don’t come over btw thx

 _Ph1lzA:_ TECHNO

He doesn’t rush to the village or anything, but if he pushes Carl to move a little bit faster, nobody has to know. There’s nothing to worry about, really— Wilbur’s recovering from a stab wound. His only worry is that he might run off with his cape, which if Wilbur knows what’s good for him, he won’t do.

Wilbur might not even be awake. His name is greyed out on the active user list, indicating that his communicator is still off. If Wilbur wanted go anywhere outside the server, he’d have to turn it back on. There’s nothing to worry about.

Carl slows as they approach, and immediately, the alchemist from before runs towards them, and... wow.

_jesus, what happened_

_he looks like shit_

_that’s not good_

_put him out of his misery ;)_

He looks horrible, angry-red and scabbed scratches on his face and dark bags under his eyes, but what surprises him the most is when he _speaks_. “Take the omega!”

The thing about villagers is that they never talk to anyone outside of their species. It’s a thing in their culture — they stay silent out of respect for... something, but nobody is really sure what it is. It’s not a problem; there’s many ways to get around a vow of silence, but to have one speaking now...

Wait, did he say omega? “Wilbur’s not— he’s a beta,” Techno says, but the alchemist either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t care, trying to pull him off of Carl. He’s quick to let go when he notices how Techno’s hand strays to his sword, but still stays close, leading him to a small house on the outskirts of the village. It’s fairly normal, except the usually wooden door has been replaced with an iron one.

That’s... concerning.

Well, there’s no use in beating around the bush. “Is Wilbur in here? Is he healed?” he asks, not taking a hand off of his sword, and the alchemist nods vigorously, pushing a dented metal shield into his arms before rushing away. Through the holes in the door, he can barely make out a lump wrapped in red on a bed in a corner. It’s too dark to see anything else though, all the windows boarded up. His ears flick as he picks up the sound of faint but very ragged breathing.

_wilbur r u good bro_

_uh,,, guys i think he might actually be an omega_

_We’ve never had to lock up Phil during his ruts before tho???_

_this is a horror movie and now is the time to leave_

Sighing, he pulls out a torch and trades out the shield in favor of his own. (It’s a pretty cringe shield, what can he say?) With a press of the button, the heavy iron door swings open, and he cautiously steps in. It swings shut behind him, leaving him alone with only the light of his torch. “Wilbur?”

The lump stiffens, and very slowly, a mess of curly hair peeks out from beneath the covers. It’s hard to tell in the lighting, but there seems to be blood crusted on his fingers and mouth, which is a little bit more than worrying. Wilbur frowns at him with hazy eyes, slowly sitting up. His sharp canines glint in the torch light as he sniffs the air. For a few long moments, they stare at each other, Wilbur’s nose twitching slightly.

Whatever he seems to smell, it makes his face soften, shoulders relaxing as he blinks sleepily up at Techno.

Techno takes a step forward. Wilbur doesn’t react, so he takes another step forward. It’s starting to seem like the alchemist had overreacted until Techno reaches out to try and remove his cape and the blankets that surround Wilbur’s body.

Wilbur stiffens, bares his teeth, and then _jumps at him._

_OH FUCK_

_GET YO FUCKING DOG BITCH_

_HES OUT FOR BLOOD_

_FERALBUR??_

He barely manages to block with the shield in time, stepping back to keep his balance. “Wilbur!” A growl is his only answer as Wilbur scratches desperately at his shield, a far cry from the composed leader or the snarky babysitter that Techno is familiar with. “Wil— _stop,_ ” he grunts, rough and firm, pushing Wilbur back roughly with his shield. He half expects the man to jump at him again, but Wilbur simply moves to a hunched position, tracking his every movement like a nervous rabbit. Now that he’s closer, he can see that Wilbur is absolutely drenched with sweat, still panting harshly. His cheeks are bright red, almost as if he’s... sick....

It _is_ a heat.

No wonder Wilbur attacked him. Techno had been pretty much asking for it, with the way he touched his nest. At least he doesn’t have to worry about Wilbur jumping him unprompted — giving him his cape should have been enough to get him used to his scent. He can already tell the ride back to his house is going to be bumpy, and it’s not like the village is going to keep him after this revelation. Neither is anyone else; Phil and Dream might be the only ones who won’t kill Wilbur on sight, but who knows how the brunet will react to Phil in this state, and Dream...

No. Absolutely not.

It’s not jealousy or anything—

_it really is lmao_

_your not slick_

_Press X to doubt_

—just common sense, no matter how much Chat wants to say otherwise.

He’ll take Wilbur back to his house, he decides. He’ll help the other man through his heat, and then send him on his merry way.

Keeping an eye on Wilbur, he steps towards the door... only for the brunet to latch onto his leg immediately. “Wil, get off,” he mutters, trying to gently shake him off his leg. Unfortunately, his attempts only make him latch on tighter, rubbing his nose into the side of his leg while purring softly.

This is going to take a while.

* * *

Carl practically collapses into his stable when they get home, and frankly, Technoblade can’t blame him. Wilbur wouldn’t stop shifting and moving during the ride, playing with the fabric of his cape (which would finally need to be cleaned, now that it was stained with far too much blood and sweat for even him to ignore) and burying his face into Techno’s neck, content on being a distraction. They’ve fallen into the snow enough times to freeze his pants solid.

It’s sort of like handling an oversized drunk baby, which is unfortunate seeing as Techno has never been good with children.

“Wilbur, c’mon, we’re here,” he says, tugging the man up the stairs and through the front door. Wilbur only hums, clinging to him as they make slowly make their way up the ladder. It’s actually starting to get a bit concerning, how he hasn’t said a single proper word yet. Even Phil in some of his worst ruts had been coherent enough to string some words together... not that he did it often, too busy marking him up — a lot like what Wilbur is trying to do now, nipping at his collared neck. “ _Wilbur._ ”

The brunet only whines, snuggling into him. The heat radiating from him is also starting to worry him, seeing as they’ve been outside in the Arctic for a good few hours, and yet Wilbur only seems to have gotten warmer and sweatier.

It takes them ten long painful minutes to get all the way up to his bedroom, and by the time they get there, he all but throws Wilbur onto the bed. He’s not expecting this to take long; Phil’s ruts are usually over after two or three orgasms. He’ll just give Wilbur a hand a few times, and then they can go their separate ways. Nothing less, nothing more.

The brunet lets out a pleased noise when he hits the bed, immediately pawing at the sheets and adjusting the blanket to start forming the beginnings of a nest. Techno notes the way Wilbur seems to keep him in his sight throughout it, head snapping towards him with every move he makes, though he doesn’t try to attack him again. He takes the time to hang up his wet pants up to dry, letting the other settle in. When he starts to approach, Wilbur simply stares, silent but tense, a rubber band seemingly about to snap.

Cautiously, Techno sits down on the bed and places a hand on Wilbur’s arm.

Wilbur doesn’t attack him. He moves his cold hand to slip under his shirt, pressing against the warm flushed skin, and the brunet only purrs, much more calmer and decidedly less likely to bite his face off.

Armed with the knowledge that he won’t be mauled this time, Techno starts taking off Wilbur’s pants, intent on making this quick.

_aight time to head out_

_YouTube’s not gonna like this one_

_rip monetization o7_

_Guys shut up I’m trying to watch_

Wilbur’s not at all helpful through this process, squirming and nearly taking a tusk off with one swinging socked foot, but it’s clearly in jest judging by the dopey smile on his face. For the sake of keeping all three of his canon lives intact, he stops there, only pushing down Wilbur’s boxers enough to expose his softened dick.

The brunet jolts as Techno wraps a spit-covered hand around him, a moan slipping out of his mouth. He bucks his hips up into his hand roughly and quickly, enough so that he ends up slamming back into the bed, a moaning mess. Techno barely has to do anything — Wilbur’s pretty much doing all the work for him just by moving his hips.

Two pale hands find their way to his shirt, bunching up the fabric tightly as Wilbur continues to thrust into his fist, trying to tug him closer. With a quiet sigh, he acquiesces, shifting so that Wilbur’s warm body in pressed up against him. The pleased moan that escapes Wilbur’s mouth is almost sinful, and his own cock twitches. He’ll have to deal with it later. With the noises Wilbur is making, it’s not like he’ll be hard-pressed to think up anything exciting.

There’s nothing but quiet breathy pants and low moans as Techno continues to pump Wilbur’s now leaking erection, running his thick fingers along the veins. His hips stutter, near frantic, and he’s quick to cup his hand over the slit as Wilbur cums, a shaky moan leaving his lips.

The brunet continues to use his fist as a flesh light, and it’s only at Wilbur’s third orgasm that he realizes that something’s wrong. Ruts and heats may raise stamina and shorten refractory periods, but even they can’t keep a person hard for this long. Not only that, but there hasn’t been the slightest change in his condition; he’s just as incoherent as he was at the start, hazy eyes and flushed cheeks. If this keeps up, Technoblade’s pretty sure he’s going to give himself carpal tunnel syndrome. This clearly isn’t working. Maybe he should get Phil? He might know a lot, but he’s certainly not an expert in this.

...but he should exhaust all his options first.

When Techno stands up to grab the lube out of his bedside chest, Wilbur tenses again, hissing and grabbing at the back of his shirt, trying to pull him back onto the bed. “Wilbur, I’m gonna need you to lay back,” he mutters, prying him off with some force, though it doesn’t dissuade the other in the slightest. If anything, it only makes Wilbur _more_ determined to keep him in bed.

As he searches through the chest, a weight slams into his back, and he nearly staggers from the brunet clawing and scrambling up his back. “ _Wilbur,_ for the love of—“ Wilbur giggles in his ear, and Techno cuts himself off with a tired sigh. There’s no point in trying to get him off when he isn’t even able to listen, and it’s not like he’s particularly heavy. It’s like carrying a sack of feathers, honestly. The sniffing and rubbing is a little bit awkward, but Phil’s done the same thing, so it’s nothing he hasn’t experienced before.

Wilbur lets out a little yelp as he’s flipped off of his back and onto the bed, scrambling to turn and face Techno. It’s hard to do this clinically when Wilbur seems to soak up his attention, looking at him with hazy and loving eyes.

It’s not something he’s used to from other people.

Technoblade presses one thick, slicked-up finger inside, and Wilbur whines, bucking down and chasing it as he pulls out to thrust in again. His already tight walls seem to somehow get even tighter, clamping down on his fingers almost as if he’s trying to keep him there. Two pale hands reach out for him, tugging him closer as Wilbur presses a kiss to his snout and then attacks the thick skin of his neck with light bites and licks of his tongue. It’s more of a tickle if anything, Wilbur’s dulled teeth barely leaving a mark, but his cock twitches anyway at the attempts.

He’s careful when it comes to Wilbur. As enthusiastic as the other man is, he’s still injured. The stab wound isn’t fatal anymore, but he doesn’t want to make it worse by being too rough. Wilbur doesn’t seem to share his logic though; the other is constantly moving, all rough movements and bruising touches — right now, it feels more like Wilbur’s fucking himself on his fingers, like Techno is nothing more than his toy to get off.

As he curls a third finger inside of him, Wilbur suddenly jerks, digging his dull nails through his shirt and into his skin as he growls, kicking and clawing at him enough that it’s actually starting to hurt. “Wil,” he says, pulling his fingers out to block the foot that’s trying to kick at him again. “Wilbur, you’ve gotta st— _heh?_ ” A pair of boxers smack him in the face. Before he can take them off, the wind gets knocked out of him as Wilbur suddenly _tackles him_ , using the element of surprise combined with all of his weight to shove him down and straddle his legs, all but shoving his face into Techno’s crotch. “ _Shit!_ ” (Ugh, Chat’s not going to let him live _that_ one down.)

Wilbur mouths at his bulge, licking and staining his boxers with drool. His fingers grip and pull at the fabric, getting more and more frantic with his movements as they stay on. The increasingly frustrated expression on his face is kind of cute, but Techno decides to take pity on him and helps pull off his own boxers. Wilbur startles as his cock springs out, having already slipped out of its sheath inside his boxers earlier. Technoblade can’t blame him for his reaction; piglin dicks are definitely much different than what the other would be used to: long, thin, and in a loose spiral.

After a few moments of hesitation, the brunet leans in and gives one cautious kitten lick along the twisted length. Techno stifles the moan that threatens to escape as Wilbur starts licking more enthusiastically, pressing sloppy kisses up and down his dick. It’s a pretty sight; Wilbur’s flushed face, blown wide pupils and spit-slicked lips completely focused on him. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the attention. Still, this is about Wilbur, not him.

Before he can do anything, Wilbur suddenly sits up, nearly clocking him in the chin with his head in the process. ”Wilbur—?” He doesn’t answer, instead moving so that he’s hovering above him, hands gripping his shoulders hard enough that if his skin were any thinner, there’d be definite bruises. Is he... is he trying to ride him?

Techno has to grab the man by the hips to stop him from stabbing his thigh on his dick. Yeah, he’s definitely trying to ride him. It takes a bit of maneuvering but he manages to position Wilbur over his dick, trying — in spite of Wilbur’s intense squirming — to slowly lower the other man down. “Wilbur, I need you to work with me.”

Naturally, this just makes Wilbur squirm and buck more, hard enough that his grip slips for just a moment — and that’s all he needs to slam himself down on to the rest of his dick with a punched out moan. Another curse nearly slips out of Techno’s lips as Wilbur rocks and grinds down against his length, soft whines slipping out of his lips as he waits to adjust... which is about five seconds. Technoblade can barely catch his breath before Wilbur is raising himself up and down again, almost immediately setting a quick and sharp pace.

“Wil— Wilbur, slow down—“ Wilbur almost seems to go faster, somehow, and dear lord, Techno had absolutely not been prepared for this. He’s no stranger to sex, but this is much different; if it weren’t for the messy kisses Wilbur presses against his snout, he would think that the other only sees him as nothing more than a toy. The pace he keeps is stuttering and borderline frantic, to the point that he’s mildly worried that Wilbur might actually hurt himself. He bucks up as gently as he can, in spite of the growing part of him that just wants to tear him to pieces.

He sucks in a sharp breath as the tight, hot walls around his dick gets even tighter, Wilbur stopping so suddenly that it twists a frustrated moan out of his throat. His teary eyes staring into Techno’s as he cums onto his chest doesn’t help; the soft moans falling out of those swollen, spit-slicked lips make him want to flip the man over and ravage him, and it’s hard to ignore it when the stragglers in Chat that stick around for this are screaming for him to break the man on top of him. This isn’t about him, though; this is about Wilbur, and if the other is done, then Techno’s going to respect—

Wilbur starts moving again, another sharp and quick clip as if he hadn’t just cummed all over his chest only a few minutes ago. He’s rough, clawing at his chest, and with a few more urges from chat, Techno finally breaks and gives in. He relishes in the yelp that escapes Wilbur as he catches him firmly by the hips, bucking up quickly and roughly. Little gasps and moans escape Wilbur as he’s fucked into, nails digging into his scars hard enough that he’s sure he‘s going to add another one to his collection.

Techno doesn’t let Wilbur use him anymore, and the other doesn’t seem to mind, letting the piglin fuck him as hard as he can. Grunts escape him as he starts to raise and drop Wilbur on his dick in time with his thrusts. The tight knot in the pit of his stomach is starting to get closer and closer to snapping with every thrust, the tight pressure getting near unbearable. The urge to bite him, mark him up with his own blood is getting harder and harder to ignore, his flushed and unmarked stretches of skin almost mocking. Wilbur blinks at him, blown wide pupils looking down at him almost _adoringly—_

Techno sinks his tusks into his own arm as he cums, Wilbur’s borderline wail like music to his ears. The blood doesn’t completely satiate him — it’s not Wilbur’s, and he knows it — but it’s enough. The brunet grinds down as semen continues to pump into him, still fucking him even through his orgasm. It’s starting to get a bit painful, overstimulation slowly starting to set in.

_hey so idk if it’s just me but he still looks really high_

_feralbur is here to stay boys_

_maybe fuck him again?_

_pls get Phil i don’t think this is normal_

“Alright, alright,” Techno mutters to Chat as he sits up, “Let me get my communica— _ugh!_ ” Wilbur bites down on his shoulder as he tries to pull him off, a low growl escaping him. While Techno could definitely take Wilbur, he’s also incredibly aware of where his dick is right now, how exposed he is, and how quick Wilbur can be when he wants to be.

His communicator is all the way downstairs. If he wants to get it without bodily injury, Techno’s probably going to have to wait for Wilbur to pass out.

...He’s going to be here for a while.

* * *

Phil sighs as he looks over the country that’s slowly rebuilding itself. It’s nice to see that everything’s going well, but his eyes keep straying to the cliff side that had once housed Wilbur’s body. He has a pretty good idea where it’s at now — his old friend is awful at lying — but he’ll respect his wishes for now, even if curiosity is eating at him.

His communicator’s almost frantic buzzing catches his attention, and he pulls it out, raising an eyebrow at the sudden influx of messages from Techno in their private chat.

 _Technoblade:_ helo p

 _Technoblade:_ phil hlp

 _Technoblade:_ will pass out

 _Ph1lzA:_ mate did something happen? are you being attacked?

 _Technoblade:_ no jusr comd

 _Technoblade:_ need brwak

 _Ph1lzA:_ break??

There’s no response after that.

Shaking off the anxiety that starts to creep into the back of his mind, Phil gathers his stuff quickly, grabbing his weapons just in case. He pushes Wilbur to the back of his thoughts; this is a much more pressing concern than the whereabouts of a dead body. Phil can’t lose another friend.

Spreading his wings, Phil takes off into the night, leaving only a few feathers in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t realize how much I relied on dialogue until I had to write this. 
> 
> If you’re wondering where I’ve been: To keep a long story short, February has been awful. I’ve been swamped in both work and personal emergencies irl that needed my attention, so that’s why I haven’t posted in the last few weeks. I’m still not entirely out of the woods yet, but I’m trying to get back into the swing of things (and I’m very upset I missed Valentine’s Day ripp D;) 
> 
> Anyways, see you in the Philbur chapter! Hopefully it won’t take as long <3


End file.
